Sixteen Years
by kittykatloren
Summary: Haar stared at the sky, longing for something beautiful to appear there, like the stars or the moon. He couldn't count how many times he'd watched the night sky with Shiharam and Jill. FE9 Path of Radiance; pre-game Haar/Jill series of scenes.
1. I

**A/N: **Oh, Haar and Jill. I can't get enough of you. This will be a multi-part piece - probably five chapters. It is, of course, about Haar and Jill - but everything takes place pre-grame, so no true romance yet.

The title comes from the difference in their ages. If you do to the math, Haar is probably between 15 and 17 years older than Jill. (If you're curious... The "math" is the fact that, at the beginning of PoR, we know that Shiharam and Haar had left Bengion 18 years earlier. Since back then, Haar had been Shiharam's "hotshot young protegee," we can assume he was 14 then - a young soldier, but it's possible. 14 + 18 makes Haar 32 at the beginning of PoR. As for Jill's age, we know she was raised in Daein because of her hatred for laguz, and I'm assuming she was born there too because it would be nearly impossible to flee a country like Bengion with a newborn baby. So at the oldest she's 17 in PoR, but I'm assuming 16, since she's the same age as Mist and Mist looks really young. So there's the math!)

Some people find that age difference strange... I don't! It's just my thing for older guys. Most of this story is Haar-centric, and it all works with canon, but I invent a LOT of Haar backstory. I hope you enjoy reading it! Just had to say that, yes, I am inventing certain characters and speculating as to certain events.

As always, please read and review!

**Disclaimer:** This applies to this chapter and all future chapters as well. Everything you recognize belongs to Nintendo, not me.

* * *

The screams haunted him as Haar ran, away from Talrega keep, away from the dark room full of frazzled healers dashing in and out, fear shining starkly on their lamplit faces. Twelve hours ago, Shiharam and Lorrie had entered that room, the bright noonday sun highlighting the hope and excitement on their faces and masking the worry and pain. Haar had been so excited to hear that it was finally time – something to truly cement their return to Daein, Shiharam's child with the wife he had loved for as long as Haar had known him.

Haar could still remember meeting her for the first time, two years ago. Haar had been introduced as Shiharam's most promising young soldier, a boy of only fourteen. Lorrie had long, dark hair that hung to her waist, and sharp eyes like Shiharam's, though they were of a paler color and held all of a mother's loving warmth. When she had entered the healers' room today, her eyes had been glowing. Shiharam had pulled her hair back, away from her face and neck to help keep her cool, and entered with her, though the healers would not let Haar come too. Instead, he resolved to stay right outside, basking in the sunlight that poured from a nearby window. He imagined what the baby would look like – a boy or a girl? – and if Shiharam would let him hold him or her; he had never held a baby before.

Now, it was deep in the night, and the baby still had not come. He had sat there, Lorrie's screams growing more frequent and more pained with every passing hour. Worry settled into his heart like a stone. Every time a healer left the room, to fetch clean rags or water or another healer from town, he assailed them with questions, and they answered none. He craned his head around the door as they slipped past, and he saw nothing. He could only hear. He knew nothing of childbirth, but even he was aware that twelve hours of such unbearable pain could not be a good sign.

When the moon reached its height in the sky, Haar could stand it no longer. He ran until he reached silence and solitude, slamming his fist against a tree trunk. The pain that shot through his hand and arm made him gasp and cleared his head. Lorrie's screams still echoed in his ears, slashing through his silence. She was usually a soft-spoken woman; stubborn, but she never raised her voice, even in anger.

Had his own mother suffered so, bearing him? The thought brought a bitter smile to his lips: perhaps his mother deserved it, for deserting him as she did. She left him in the darkest streets of Bengion, alone, and he would have died in days had Shiharam not found him.

Haar thought then of the girls he knew in the village. They were all young and so full of life, looking forward to their futures as wives and mothers, and did they truly know what awaited them? He remembered one girl in particular, Sasha, who he had half-dressed against the wall of the darkest alley in town. He teased her, acting as every sixteen-year-old did, kissed her and made her weak for his touch. Now all he could imagine were Sasha's screams, her voice straining and breaking with the pain by the end, and he shuddered to know that it would be his fault.

He collapsed to his knees in the woods and closed his eyes. Turning around, he rested his head against the tree trunk, wishing he could sleep, wishing he could forget for only a few hours. He'd go back eventually, he knew he would, but he could not help but hope to delay his return to the truth, the reality of the pain.

Three more hours passed while he sat alone, unable to sleep, yet unable to open his eyes. He didn't know what finally brought him staggering to his feet, stumbling back to Talrega. The first thing he noticed was the utter silence in the halls. He hurried back to the healer's room, which was still lit by various candles and lamps, and when he burst through the door, no one stopped him. Barely a head moved to note his entrance.

Long, aching minutes passed as he tried to comprehend the scene in front of him. There were three candles and two lamps, all flickering faintly as if left untended for the last few hours. Piles of bloodied rags and sheets lay in the corner, but no one moved to clean them. Water dripped over the edge of a large wooden tub that sat slanted at the foot of the bed, making steady, rhythmic taps that sounded as loud as the bangs of a war drum in his ears. Shiharam sat on a tiny stool by the bed, his eyes fixed on the bundle in his arms. A healer, a kind-faced, older woman, stood at his shoulder, and she was the only one who looked up at Haar as he entered. Her face betrayed nothing.

And then Haar's eyes fell on the bed. There was no blood there; everything was fresh, clean, and white. It was all he could see. For a thin sheet had been pulled up over a familiar shape, gently falling to match the shape of a nose and lips and chin. Nothing in the room moved. The shape on the bed did not breathe.

Haar's knees felt weak beneath him. In a flash of memory, he was not in the quiet healer's room anymore, but on a deserted battlefield in Bengion, the remnants of a fight to the death surrounding him. He felt, then, like a foolish boy, terrified, staring at people who stared right back, unblinking, and did not see.

In a trance, Haar walked over to Shiharam, whose face was blank and drawn as he stared fixedly at the bundle he held. The healer held a finger to her lips as Haar knelt at his teacher's feet and looked down at a tiny, impossibly red little face. With a trembling finger, he touched the baby's cheek, marveling at the softness of the skin. Shiharam's eyes flickered to his face, and seemed to recognize him slowly.

"Would you like to hold her?" he said. His voice was hoarse and quiet.

_A girl. It's a baby girl._ Wordlessly, Haar nodded. Feeling the healer's watchful eyes on him, he took the baby from Shiharam so carefully, terrified that he would do something wrong. But he held her with his hand cradling her head, like he had seen babies held before, those rare occasions when he was young and had seen a newborn. As she moved, she woke, and opened her mouth and yawned and wriggled a little. The healer knelt quickly and cooed to her, touching her face gently, soothing her back to sleep.

"What's her name?" said Haar. His voice, too, was cracked from lack of use.

There was a long pause. Haar met the healer's eyes, for Shiharam was not looking at him, but the healer, too, looked quickly away.

"She said… she said that she wanted to name her Jill," Shiharam whispered. "She saw her only once, and said 'Jill.'"

Haar looked up again at the bed. Lovely, kind Lorrie… dead giving birth to her first child, her little girl. He couldn't imagine how such a thing could have happened, not after everything else that Shiharam had been through, not this as well. They had escaped Bengion together, escaped the violence of the wars and the madness of the senate, only to fall to nothing more than the hope of peace and future.

He passed Jill back to her father, who took her and held her as if she were the most beautiful, most precious thing in the world. He was captivated by her. He didn't notice the faintest beginnings of sunrise stealing through the single, tiny window. But Haar watched the sun illuminate all parts of the room, from the hand-made baby's cradle that Haar and Shiharam had built together, to the bloody sheets in the corner that still no one had cleaned because no one had wanted to move. At the touch of the sunlight on her face, Jill yawned again and made a little baby's noise, almost like a whistle, which shook Shiharam out of his daze and made him, too, stare at the rising sun. It made his pale face look a little healthier, his eyes a little brighter. Quickly he turned back to his daughter.

"We'll be all right, little one," he said. "Be strong, my daughter. We'll be all right."

He repeated the words over and over, quietly, a mantra to himself. Haar listened and let his teacher's words fill his mind and permeate his heart. Here, he knew, was a lesson in grief. He found the spark of love amongst all the sorrow, and clung to it, promising to himself that he would watch over little Jill for as long as he lived, for Lorrie's sake, for Shiharam's, and for hers.

* * *

"Sir Haar," she said petulantly. "You're _s'posed_ to battle with me. Papa told you to."

"He did not. He told me to watch you. I didn't know that meant getting beaten – ouch! Jill!" Haar jumped away from her "lance," which was in fact no more than long stick that she could just barely lift. All the same, Haar eyed it nervously, for he knew he'd have quite a few bruises tomorrow. She was shaping up to be a fine fighter, that was certain.

"Well, if you don't wanna get hurt, fight back! How'd you get to be a soldier if you never fight?"

"I'm not going to fight _you_," Haar explained. "I can't hit a girl, see? We soldiers, we're almost all men really, so we don't have to worry. A girl doesn't have what it takes to be a soldier - "

She whacked him across the shins for that. "Take it back!" she shouted. "I'll show you, I'll be a soldier!"

"Ouch! All right, all right, I believe you!" Haar said, laughing as he dodged her next strike. He grinned; he had only spoken to get a rise out of her. If any girl could rise through the ranks of an army, it would be this one, he knew. She was Shiharam's daughter through and through, even at the age of five.

"'Kay! So get your weapon, Haar! I'll start training by beating you!"

"You're asking for it," Haar said, finding a stick of his own and hefting it experimentally in his hand. When she made him yelp in pain again, with another hit to the shins, he sighed and shook his head. "Why can't we just have a tea party or something? Like most girls like?"

Jill stuck out her tongue at him. Haar grinned, and blocked her next blow with his stick.

He'd forgotten - she wasn't like most girls.


	2. II

Peering around the edge of the door, Jill watched, both fascinated and infuriated, as Haar and a girl from the main village laughed and chatted over cup of tea. He'd say something that Jill couldn't hear, and the girl – was her name Clara, she thought? – would giggle with her hand pressed shyly over her lips. Her cheeks turned bright pink. With an unfamiliar sort of smile, Haar leaned forward, pulled away her hands, and kissed her on the lips.

Jill had seen people kissing before, but never _Haar_. It wasn't fair, she thought, that this other lady was going to take up all of Haar's time now, wasn't she? Instantly she frowned, picking out all the things about sweet little Clara that she hated. She didn't like her hair; it was much too short and brown and dull. Her cheeks were far too rosy. Jill didn't like the way she laughed, either; it was a ditsy giggle. Clara probably couldn't ever be _strong_ like a soldier, like Jill was going to be. Jill hated the way that Clara tossed her head and fluttered her lashes at Haar, encouraging him.

Disgusted, Jill ran away to the place outside town where she liked to practice with the small training lance that her father had given her two years ago, on her eighth birthday. She practiced until she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, but when she started to head back home through the village, she saw Haar walking Clara back her house. Quickly Jill darted behind a tree to watch them again.

Haar just kissed Clara goodnight and said something in her ear, which made her giggle again and dash inside. As Haar turned back to the road, grinning broadly, he caught sight of Jill, as hard as she had tried to hide.

"Hey, Jill," he called, falling into step beside her as she started to walk haughtily back towards their home. Haar slept in the soldiers' barracks, and Jill in the main Talrega keep, but they were close enough. "So, have you met Clara? Don't you like her? You've talked to her before, right?"

"No, I don't like her," Jill said stubbornly.

"What? Why not? I think she's charming. Pretty, too."

"She's stupid," Jill said bluntly.

"Oh, come now. I think she's rather lovely. Straightforward girl."

"But stupid."

"You don't have to phrase it that way, though," said Haar, stretching and yawning lazily. Jill felt a strange sense of satisfaction – so he _did_ know that she was stupid! "Anyway," Haar continued, "we're just enjoying each other's company. Don't worry, Jill. You and Shiharam are about the only people I can spend more than two hours with without getting dreadfully bored."

"Is that why you sleep so much? You're just _bored_?"

"You're a sharp one, aren't you?" Haar said, laughing and ruffling her hair. "Night, Jill. See you tomorrow."

She watched him go with narrowed eyes. Whipping around, she thought decidedly that _she_ would never kiss someone who was stupid, no matter how pretty they were.

* * *

"Jill, please. Open the door."

"I won't."

"Why not?"

"I told you. I won't."

She heard her father sigh in frustration, but still Jill sat stubbornly on her bed, as far away from the door as she could possibly be. It wasn't fair, that both Papa _and_ Haar were leaving her, and at the same time too, and they wouldn't let her come. They were just leaving her with the old healer lady in the village, who was nice enough, but Jill hated not being able to practice with the soldiers, or run when she wanted to, or visit the wyverns.

"Jill? Come on, open the door."

That voice – it was Haar. After a few seconds' consideration, Jill dragged herself to the door and unlocked it, keeping her eyes stubbornly on the ground as she opened it. She didn't want to look at them in all their shining armor, else she might just burn up with jealousy on the spot. Haar walked in without asking, and stepped in front of her before she could reach her bed again.

"Come on, Jill," he said, crouching so that their faces were level. His dark eyes gleamed with familiar warmth. "You're not going to let us leave without a proper goodbye, are you? What atrocious manners. I wonder who raised you?"

With an involuntary giggle, Jill glanced at Shiharam, and Haar did, too. Shiharam didn't appear to have noticed; he was scratching his head absentmindedly. Jill and Haar looked back at each other, sharing a secret smile. Jill threw her arms around Haar's neck, ignoring his cold armor, and hugged him tight. "I don't want you to go."

"I don't want to go either," Haar said quietly as held her. "But we're soldiers. We have to follow the king's orders." Unseen by Jill, Haar glanced up at Shiharam, who was now alert and stone-faced. He gave a short nod, and Haar turned back to Jill, meeting her eyes. "We don't know how long we'll be away. But you're a brave girl. You'll be fine, right?"

Jill nodded determinedly. "Promise you'll come back."

"I promise."

At last, she seemed satisfied. Haar rose to his feet, took her hand, and brought her to Shiharam, who lifted her into a crushing hug. "Be strong, my daughter," he whispered in her ear. "We'll come back as soon as we can."

When it came time for them to finally depart, when their mounts were saddled and all their weapons and supplies in order, Jill dashed to the window to watch them, her new guardian struggling to keep up. The old healer sighed and sat down in a rickety chair while Jill craned her neck to see over the tall windowsill. Her father and Haar were in the front of the small group, conversing, trading glances back at Talrega keep and then at her, in the healer's home. Jill waved through the window, but she was too far away to be seen. Shiharam and Haar mounted their wyverns and led the departure. All too soon they became mere specks in the pale morning sky. Jill sighed, her whole body aching to be up there with them, wondering when she would next see them.

In a resigned voice, shoulders drooping, she asked the healer for some tea, to soothe her tired spirit.


	3. III

**A/N: **This chapter is a little bloody. It's speculation on how Haar lost his eye and inspired by something some character said about Ashnard that I can't remember exactly... Anyway, just something I could see happening; explains quite a lot about how Shiharam and his soldiers got involved with Ashnard. Originally written for LJ's fe_contest, prompt "Wager."

* * *

Daein's capital was a horrid place. Nevassa's sprawling streets were filled with crooks and thieves, and the city proper was no better, the nobles just as nasty and corrupt, if not more so. They were all led by a leash, gripped in Ashnard's immovable fist. They did anything in their power to stay alive, for they all knew he discarded their pretty faces and their wealth daily in exchange for raw power. The battle arena in the palace was, perhaps, the foulest place in the city. Battle after battle to the death raged there, the blood of hundreds of fighters lingering on the sandy floor, never cleaned. It was here that Haar stared, horrified, every night for their first month in Daein. Ashnard forced all of his soldiers to watch in the arena's stands.

Ashnard himself had welcomed the wyvern battalion to Nevassa. It was the first time Haar had actually laid eyes on him. At once, fear had begun to creep like ice through his veins: fear of this bloodthirsty, murderous man, whose lust for violence knew no bounds. Shiharam, too, looked uncomfortable, and Haar knew that this was the Daein king's true power – to strike fear in the hearts of his allies and enemies alike, so none would dare to oppose him.

For three weeks, Ashnard fed them well, allowed them the finest home comforts, and provided them many hours in which he suggested that they train. And train they did. Ashnard's eyes were on them, and any man who wished to keep his head would never dream of disobeying his "suggestions."

Then, at the start of the fourth week, Ashnard turned to face Talrega's wyvern knights. Behind him, the gasps and clashes of a duel echoed throughout the arena.

"Rest well tonight, soldiers," he said coldly, his eyes emotionless pits of black. "You have grown strong in your time here. Now it is time for you to prove your strength. Tomorrow you fight, against my soldiers and each other."

He left. They all stared, speechless, terrified. Haar instantly looked to Shiharam, whose face did not share the terror that was blatant in the expressions of all the other men. His face was appropriately schooled into blankness, but Haar knew him well enough to see the despair in his eyes.

"You knew," Haar whispered, so the other soldiers wouldn't hear. "You knew this was what he was planning."

Shiharam blinked. "I suspected," he said. "But I brushed it away. I did not want it to be the truth. I was a fool. But what could we have done?"

And Haar found, then, that he had nothing to say. Shiharam was right. There was nothing they could have done to prevent this – the king's word was law. Haar walked in silence back to their quarters, and like the others, could not sleep at all. He laid awake, staring at the ceiling, staring at nothing, hearing the fast, nervous breathing of his friends around him. Some of them had wives and families to whom they hoped to return. And Shiharam… what would happen to Jill, if they never came back?

The morning and afternoon passed in a blur of tiredness. But when evening came, all his senses were far too alert with the instinctive awareness that comes before a battle. To his body, this was a battle just like any other. To his heart, this was certain death. He could not bring himself to turn his weapon on his friends, his comrades, he knew. He would rather turn his blade on himself.

However, Ashnard knew better. He knew that he would lose all the soldiers if he tried to make them fight each other, for they held too much honor to kill one of their own, and the penalty for failing to fight in the arena was death at the executioner's axe. So he pitted them against strangers, strangers whose eyes gleamed with the same familiar fear, and the dracoknights were indeed able to cut down these strangers, even if they returned shaking and vomiting with guilt and disgust at what they had done. After the first night, three of the dracoknights had died, while four had succeeded and would fight again the next day. One other had won, but was too gravely wounded to ever battle again, and Ashnard merely left him to return, unaccompanied, untended, to his quarters.

Haar and Shiharam had not fought yet. They knew what Ashnard was planning. He had researched them well – he knew they were the strongest in the group. He was saving the best for last. A child's trick.

That night, Shiharam pulled him aside, away from where the others mourned and nursed their own injuries. Shiharam's voice was low and desperate.

"Do not die tomorrow, Haar," he said. "Whatever happens, do not die. You may think there is no hope, but there is always hope if you are alive, never hope if you are dead. Promise me this. Promise me you will not give in to Ashnard's insanity."

The violent intensity of his gaze shocked Haar. "I promise," he said. "And you, Captain, you too – stay alive – think of Jill."

"I already do," he said, his voice flat. "Every day. Every second."

The next day, before he knew it, it was his turn to fight.

Only two of his fellows were left alive now. Ashnard had declared them finished, and said they were indeed strong enough to be soldiers of the empire, and sent them home with his "blessing" and an oath to follow his every command as their sovereign lord. All of that death, all of that fighting, was for nothing – he just let them go. He just enjoyed seeing men slaughter each other, tossing the corpses in a rotting pile for the birds to pick clean, and tossing the living right back where they came from, only with broken souls and broken hearts.

But though comrades were finished, Haar's battles were only beginning. His hands trembled as he lifted his beloved axe, his most trusted weapon, disgusted at how he was about to use it. He stumbled into the arena, feeling hundreds of soldiers' eyes upon him, and most especially, Ashnard's. He refused to look into the stands and see the king sitting there, like a cat before his helpless prey.

_Forgive me,_ Haar thought, turning his gaze the man in front him, who wielded a lance and looked just as terrified as Haar felt. But Haar knew he would win. He could not lose. He would kill this man, this man who had done nothing wrong, who had committed no crime, and yet was to lose his life as surely as if he had been sentenced to hangman's noose. _Forgive me._

"Place your bets, spectators," Ashnard said. His voice boomed and echoed over the din. "Numbers thirteen and fourteen, prepare to fight."

The crowd burst into an excited furor. Haar imagined he could hear the tinkle of gold changing hands already. A sick sense of pride coursed through him as he realized he surely must be the favorite. His opponent was just a boy.

"All bets have now been placed," Ashnard boomed again. At once the clamor died down. The king fixed his gaze on the center of the arena, where Haar and the boy stood, frozen. "Kill, or be killed."

And, like a well-trained dog, Haar fought. Killed.

Four battles passed, a short break in between each, while Shiharam fought. He won all of his fights, too, passing Haar as he left the arena, and giving him only a short nod. They were both too tired, body and soul, to do more. The men they battled now were fresh and stronger than before. Haar's arms trembled, not from fear this time, but from exhaustion, as he entered the red sand pit for his fifth fight. None of the other dracoknights had been made to battle more than three times.

His opponent entered after an appropriately dramatic pause. It was a tall, rough-looking man, with mail armor, and a curved sword that reminded him of an assassin. The blade reflected the dying sunlight into Haar's eyes with every twitch of the man's hand. To Haar's astonishment, before Ashnard had called for the battle to begin, the man took his blade and drew it across his left arm, drawing thick blood, dyeing the blade red. His blood dripped from the sword to the congealed, reddish brown mass that was once plain sand. Haar stared, astonished, and when the man's eyes met his, Haar saw nothing but bloodlust. Of course. He drew blood to accustom himself early on to the bite of metal, the longing for pain, the chaos in every man's heart.

It was then that Haar knew – he would lose this fight. He wondered, dimly, how many people would lose their gold.

In the split second before Ashnard sounded the call to begin, thousands of thoughts and images flashed before Haar's eyes. First Begnion – dark streets shadowed by the gleaming white palaces of Sienne – alone, completely alone, until Shiharam had found him and trained him to be a soldier. He remembered his first battle, then fleeing Bengion, then the simple comfort of Talrega – and Jill, little Jill. So many faces lingered in his memory, but few so bright as hers.

The swordfighter charged him. Just in time, Haar raised his axe and parried, sidestepping and sending the soldier sprawling, but Haar was so tired that he, too, nearly lost his footing. The other man lost no time, coming at him again and again, putting Haar on the defensive at every turn. Haar had no energy to search for an opening. He concentrated only on remaining on his feet, blocking the sword, instinct and the force of pattern keeping him alive.

With a violent twist of his blade, the swordfighter hooked the edge of Haar's axe and sent it clattering to the ground. Vaguely Haar heard a collective gasp from the spectators. This was it, then. He stood, defenseless, completely at his opponent's mercy, and he knew what was to come.

The man lifted his sword high. Haar stared at the sky, longing for something beautiful to appear there before he died, like the stars or the moon. He couldn't count how many times he'd watched the night sky with Shiharam and Jill.

_Do not die tomorrow, Haar._

Shiharam. He would be quite disappointed with his student, Haar knew. He had made a promise – he'd promised he wouldn't give in – and he'd promised Jill he would come back – how could he break his promises?

The sword struck with lightning speed, but not as much force as Haar had expected – and yet still, he screamed at the mind-numbing pain, his hands flying to his face. Why had the man hit his face? Why had he not just killed him on the spot? Haar felt his hands sticky with his own blood, and he realized, terrified, that he couldn't see. He blinked and felt movement in only one of his eyes, but still he was still blinded by the blood dripping across his face.

All he could hear now were the echoes of the his own broken promises ringing in his ears. The roaring crowd faded into silence. But beneath his knees, Haar felt the handle of his axe. His only chance.

Haar moved one hand away from his face, holding his weapon with his weak left hand while his right hand still clutched his eye in an attempt to staunch the blood. Delirious with pain, Haar waited until he could hear his opponent breathing, directly above him.

With a final grunt of effort, Haar twisted on the ground and kicked at the man's shins. He collapsed, and following the noise of his grunt, Haar rose and drove his axe into the man's chest. Bones cracked under his weight. He felt, rather than saw, as the life poured out of the man's body, like his blood that soon soaked Haar's arms, the man's clothes, and the thick sandy ground. It was a messy kill, but a kill nonetheless.

Haar swayed on his feet. He heard Ashnard's call; the battle was over, and Haar turned at once toward the arena exit. He blinked again – and only his left eye moved, but for now it was enough. He squinted through his own blood, feeling it coating his face and hands and arms like the winter mud in Talrega. Like a child, he stumbled on his tired feet, dragging his weapon carelessly behind him. When he left the arena proper and entered the shadows of the preparation room, somewhere deep under the stands, Shiharam was there, gripping his shoulders and speaking quickly.

"Haar? Haar? Look at me, Haar, find a healer in the city, get away, don't die now – don't - "

But one of Ashnard's men shoved Shiharam away – it was his turn to fight. They shouldered roughly past Haar as they tossed Shiharam into the arena, and Haar heard the roar of the crowd, their bloodlust not yet sated.

He couldn't see, he couldn't think, he could barely feel through the haze of pain his mind. Somehow he made his way out of the arena. No one stopped him; they knew Ashnard would not command him to fight again. An invalid – even a victorious one, a lucky one – was worthless. In the dark alley between the arena and the soldier's barracks, Haar turned and retched in the gutter, his limbs shaking. He was almost glad he couldn't see. Even though the feeling of the man's bones breaking under his strike still lingered in his arms and mind - and would until the day he died - at least Haar had no visual image to match with the sensation.

All he could think to do was follow Shiharam's advice. A healer in the city. There had to be one. Taking a deep breath and spitting the taste of his own vomit from his mouth, Haar began to walk, away from the arena, the palace, the soldiers' rooms. He didn't know where he was going. But anywhere had to be better than the place he was leaving behind.

"Haar! _Haar_!"

How long he had walked, he didn't know. His sense of time and place was now so skewed that he didn't know the difference between a second and a year. Just before he collapsed, Shiharam caught him, and the last thing Haar knew before succumbing to the pain was Shiharam's presence, the father he had never had, the sole reason he was even still alive.

* * *

Hours later – or perhaps days? - he woke in a familiar bed, in Daein castle's soldiers' barracks. When he tried to open his eyes, only his left eye moved, but at least now there was no blood obscuring his half-vision. He saw, blearily, the shape of Shiharam standing beside him, and the shape of a woman in a white dress, who had to be a healer. They were conversing in low voices, and Haar heard the chink of gold changing hands, and she left. Shiharam turned to face him, blinking in surprise at finding him awake.

"Thank the goddess," breathed Shiharam. He passed Haar a glass of water, which he accepted gratefully, and Shiharam pressed something else into his hand too, a small piece of thick black cloth. Haar stared at it, bewildered. An eyepatch.

"There was no way to save your eye," Shiharam said. "But the cut around it is stitched, and will heal well. We saved you. The healer said to place that poultice over there on it every day for a few weeks, to prevent infection, but you will live."

Haar nodded grimly. He caught only a glimpse of his face in the reflection on the water before pulling the eyepatch over his face. He didn't want to look at the scars any longer than he had to. Glancing back at Shiharam, Haar noticed his teacher's hard stare, and frowned.

"There's something else, isn't there?" Haar asked.

"I am to return to Talrega," Shiharam said, "as top commander of Daein's dracoknights. Many of his palace knights will accompany me, and I will lead and train them in service to the king."

Haar nodded; service was to be expected. But there was still something more.

"You are to stay here," Shiharam said. "For four years, as part of the replacement for the knights accompanying me. Ashnard – His Majesty – he said that even with one eye, you could do more than half the soldiers in the palace. He wanted you to serve as a living example of his might. Even the injured fight for him. He said, 'let the rest go, but keep the one-eyed dog here, to serve in my personal army.'"

Barely suppressed rage laced Shiharam's voice. Haar found he was too tired to be angry. He merely shrugged, the hate for Ashnard already so firmly in place in his heart that it did not rise, fresh and biting, to infuriate him. "Four years. Not that much, compared to how much time you spent in Bengion, right?"

Shiharam did not reply.

"When do you leave?" said Haar.

"Tomorrow," said Shiharam.

Now Haar felt silent. Dull apprehension infected his veins at the thought of Shiharam leaving, but again, he was too tired to let it overcome him. Nothing much seemed to matter at the moment, not when the next four years would be, he knew, the worst of his life. Even worse than his years alone in the streets of Bengion, after his mother had left, when he was nothing more than a child. For now he knew the significance of every injustice he would commit at Ashnard's orders, nothing compared to the petty thieving of a starving boy. All of a sudden, Shiharam grabbed Haar's hand, gripping it tightly. Haar noticed there was still dark blood – his own – under his fingernails.

"Do not forget your promises," he said roughly. "You promised not to die, and you promised Jill that you would come back. Do not forget."

"Never," Haar said. "I swear it, Captain – no, Commander. Tell her – tell her that I haven't forgotten."

Shiharam let go of his hand, meeting his gaze squarely. He nodded shortly. "Best of luck, Haar," he said. "It may be all that will keep you safe. And…"

With a sad smile, Shiharam untied a small bag from his belt. He tossed it to Haar, and Haar heard the chink of coins.

"I am not a gambling man," Shiharam said. "But I trusted in you. I knew I would not lose my wager. I placed fifty gold pieces on your last fight, and it was no gamble."

"Why are you giving it to me?"

"You were the one who earned it. And I will not need it as much as you will," he said. His face turned soft and kind. "I am returning to something much more valuable than gold."

With that, he was gone, and Haar was alone. Struggling to lift his arm, he hefted the bag of gold, and was awarded no sense of pride or accomplishment in his earnings.

He closed his eyes – no, his _eye_, his one good eye – and drifted back into a weary doze, comfortable in unconsciousness, wishing he could sleep straight through the next four years.


	4. IV

**A/N:** The reason I had Haar stay behind for four years is because I think that's probably the only way he could make the transition from viewing Jill as a little girl, practically his little sister, to a woman in her own right. If he missed those vital years between 12 and 16, then it fits in with the timeline and makes their romantic relationship much more plausible.

* * *

Every night, for four long years, Jill looked at the starry sky before she went to sleep. Sometimes she didn't really think about _why_, just glanced at it anyway, for it had become such a pattern that it felt wrong not to do so. But most times she knew very well why. She wanted to see something there, someone, a man riding a wyvern through the night. When her father had returned, she had been overjoyed, but her delight was so dampened by the lack of Haar's presence that she couldn't help but stare at the sky in every spare moment.

Four years, her father had said. Then he'd be back.

The days inched by, and Jill moved on with her life, keeping up with her training and her schooling and her friends in the village. Their favorite game to play was to find long sticks and dash through the woods, pretending to be on a sub-human hunt. Jill loved it; it took her mind from things, filling her with the simply joy of running and fighting and chasing. She and her friends would dart around, laughing and hitting each other with their sticks, shouting and imagining they saw beasts around every corner.

On her fourteenth birthday, her father presented her with her first real lance, and introduced her to a small but beautiful wyvern, her first mount. Haar had taught her how to ride – he had taken her for many flights on his black-skinned wyvern – but she had never flown alone. The animal's green scales glimmered like seawater in the sunlight, and it gazed at her with sharp, intelligent eyes, filled with a natural kind of warmth that captivated Jill at the very first glance. She glanced from the beautiful creature to her father, thrilled, gripping the lance firmly in her hand and nearly bouncing off her feet from excitement.

"Go ahead," Shiharam nodded. "It's about time you went on your first solo flight."

Jill squealed like a little child and scrambled onto the saddle. The wyvern craned its head to turn around and sniff her, and Jill offered it her hand, patting the animal's smooth skin gently.

"Be careful," Shiharam said. "Don't forget what Haar taught you. Don't go too fast – or too far - "

"I haven't forgotten! Don't worry!"

She tapped the wyvern into flight and let out a whoop of laughter once she was in the air. Fresh breezes whipped her long hair all about her face, but she didn't care. She felt free, so free, and the feeling returned every other time she flew. She couldn't wait for Haar to return, now. She wanted to fly with him, not as a child sharing his saddle, but as a dracoknight in her own right, keeping pace at his side.

* * *

His heart pounded a little faster the closer he got to Talrega. He'd flown nearly nonstop since his palace officer had told him he was to be released, sent back to Talrega as a captain attached to Commander Shiharam's battalion. His good eye felt dry and his vision was blurry, but for once, he refused to sleep, taking in every inch of the landscape that he hadn't seen in so long. He landed in the back lawns of Talrega keep, where he and Jill used to train.

"Thanks, mate," he murmured to his mount, patting its head in thanks and producing an apple from his pocket. The wyvern snapped it up happily and curled up for a nap. But Haar couldn't sleep quite yet – there were people he had to see. The back door to Talrega keep was open, so he walked in, wondering whether or not to call out. Perhaps he should have written before he came back?

"Haar?"

He whipped around. It was Shiharam, staring at him as if he had seen a ghost, a dumbfounded look on his face that changed ever so slowly into a broad grin. He rushed over to Haar, clasping his soldier, his eyes shining.

"It really is you," he said. "You didn't break your promise after all."

"I never would," Haar said, smiling too. "You'd kill me if I died, after all. How're things? How's Jill?"

"As fine as can be. We all know our king's a bloodthirsty madman, but there's nothing we can do about that," Shiharam said, his voice cautiously low when he spoke ill of the king. "And Jill's just fine too. I just gave her first lance and her first wyvern two years ago. She'd be thrilled to have you teach her."

"She'll be a soldier in no time," said Haar. "Where is she?"

"Out flying, most likely. She'll be back soon, probably back in the courtyard - "

Haar yawned loudly, missing the rest of Shiharam's words. "I'll take a nap there then. Do you mind? I'm completely bushed. Sorry, Commander - "

"Not at all," said Shiharam. "But, Haar, I should tell you… I didn't – I didn't tell her about our time in Daein."

With a raised eyebrow, Haar considered him. "Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," Haar said wearily, rubbing his face. "Commander, I'll see you soon."

Before he left, Shiharam caught his arm. "Thank you," he said quietly, earnestly. Haar realized that even in just four years, there were new lines on his mentor's skin, more gray hairs on his head. "Thank you for keeping your promises."

"Always," replied Haar, just as softly and sincerely.

When he reached the courtyard, he realized at once that all was not as he had left it. His timing was incredible. Just as he opened the door, a green wyvern landed lightly on the ground, and a young woman leapt off its back, looking curiously at the black animal sharing her space. She had long, straight red hair that was pulled away from her face and neck in a long ponytail, and her posture was tall and confident. Haar's breath caught in his throat as she began to turn around.

Her face was no longer warm and round like it had been when she was a child; it was sharper now, more mature. She wore a woman's body with pride and confidence. Her eyes – her mother's eyes – held a look of dawning comprehension that he could recognize even from a few sword-lengths away. She whipped around to face him fully, eyes wide.

"_Haar_?" she said, staring at him, open-mouthed. Even her voice sounded a little different - smoother, gentler. "You're – you're here – and - "

Her gaze fell on the right side of his face, as Haar knew it would. He smiled and tried to shrug it off, but he was still so surprised at her appearance that it was a halfhearted effort. He'd forgotten – when he left, she was twelve, still a girl. But now, sixteen, she was without doubt a young woman, and more than in her body, he could see it in the cool knowledge of the world behind her gaze and the way she held herself, straight and sure, like her father. He hoped that she would be too distracted to notice that he was staring her in a sort of shock.

"What – what happened?" she breathed, still standing frozen where she had dismounted.

"Training accident," Haar said. He would tell her the truth, someday, but now was not the time. "I think it looks rather fetching, don't you?"

She bit her lip, and for some reason, Haar couldn't tell if she was trying not to laugh or trying not to cry.

But his question was soon answered when she shook her head and grinned, laughing, running to him. Haar hugged her heartily, spinning her in the air like he used to, matching her laugh when he set her back on her feet. Her arms still rested around his shoulders. She began talking so fast that he could barely understand her through her excitement.

"Did Father tell you? I'm to be a real soldier soon! Look, meet my wyvern. She's wonderful. And my lance – can I show you? Can I fight you? I'll show you how much I've improved! What about you? What was the capital like? Did you fight any sub-humans? Did you travel? Oh, I so want to travel – I'm so excited to be a soldier. You'll help me keep training, right?"

"Slow down, slow down," said Haar, as she took him by the hand and led him to her mount. "You'll have to say all that again, at a pace normal people can comprehend."

She took a few long, deep breaths, closing her eyes, only opening them again once she seemed to have calmed down a little bit. Even at sixteen - a new sixteen, he realized, as her birthday was only weeks ago - she was still very much herself in her determination and vivacity. She smiled up at him, looking a little abashed, then finally noticed his odd stare. "What?" she asked, a laugh behind her voice.

"Nothing," Haar said quickly. "Just – you look – different. You look a lot like your mother, you know."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise – they rarely talked about her mother. Apart from a few mentions, apart from a few questions when she was young, no one talked much about her mother. "Thank you," Jill said sincerely. She tilted her head as she studied him, her cheeks a little pink."You look different, too. Not just your eye, I mean. You seem… I don't know the word."

"I'll just hope it's a compliment then," said Haar, smiling. She nodded fervently. Ruffling her hair like he always did, he yawned widely, his exhaustion catching up with him. "Well, I'd better find a bed soon, or I'll start snoring where I stand. Where's the closest place to sleep?"

Jill merely rolled her eyes, elbowing him in the side. Haar grinned. Some things would never change.


	5. V

**A/N:** It's inevitable. I can't resist Haar playing the hero. Please excuse the triteness. This is probably the last chapter since it's right before PoR begins, unless more inspiration strikes!

* * *

There was a boy in the training recruits – someone Haar didn't know; he must have joined up when Haar had been in Nevassa – who had taken a particular interest in Jill. Haar watched with narrowed eyes as the boy lingered after training to talk with her, to offer to spar or fly with her, to invite her into the village for dinner. He seemed innocent enough. He was about her age, handsome and confident, and whenever he talked, Jill would laugh and tuck her hair behind her ears, a blush on her cheeks.

But something about him made Haar want to punch something.

Nevertheless, he forced himself not to interfere. Jill was happy, and that was the most important thing, right? She was sixteen, after all. She could take care of herself, and had done so for the past four years without Haar around to witness her every action. As Haar unsaddled his wyvern, rubbed his sore, calloused hands together, and glanced across the near-deserted stable-like structure that held all the dracoknights' mounts. Two people, giggling and furtive, slipped out the back door. One of them sported long red hair.

Haar couldn't help it. He knew he should just leave them be, but his legs moved of their own accord until he was standing by the doorway they had just disappeared through. He didn't risk peering into the small back courtyard, but merely listened, his nerves oddly on end.

"Thank you for the flower, Thomas, it's really beautiful. Where did you find it?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm glad you like it, Jill – it reminds me of you."

"Oh – Thomas…"

Then silence. Haar gritted his teeth; he knew what was happening now. Was it Jill's first kiss, perhaps? _She's sixteen,_ he reminded himself. _She's been kissed before. Sixteen, and mature. Stay out of it._

"Thomas, wait, I…"

"Come on. Don't worry about it. Relax."

"No, really, listen to me - "

The boy's voice lowered to a growl. "Don't be a prude."

"Get _off_ of me! Now!"

Haar's muscles tensed. Blood pounded in his ears. Without a second's thought or consideration, Haar stormed into the courtyard, further infuriated at the sight that met his eyes. The two of them were sitting on a wide wooden bench – no, they were no longer sitting – the boy had pressed her back against the bench, pinning her wrists above her head and using his knees to force her legs apart. Jill was a strong girl, but boys were built with more muscle; as much as she fought, she couldn't overcome his size advantage.

Haar seized the boy by his collar. With a grunt of effort, Haar lifted him fully into the air and threw him to the ground, jamming his foot into the kid's cheek as he did so and driving his face into the dirt. Jill scrambled back to more dignified sitting position behind him, her eyes wide.

"Don't you ever touch her again," Haar snarled. "If you come anywhere _near_ her, I will tear your limbs off one by one, and when I'm finished with that - "

"Fine," the boy spat furiously."You can have the damned _nun_, you jealous bastard. She won't give you any more than she gave me - "

With a sickening crunch, Haar smashed his fist into the boy's face. Blood poured from his nose. Jill shouted something that Haar couldn't hear through the ringing in his ears. He punched the boy again and again, oblivious to any protests and feeble resistances.

"_You're_ - calling – _me -_ bastard?" Haar hissed. He punctuated each word with another blow.

"Haar, stop! _Haar!_"

Distantly he realized Jill was tugging on his punching arm. She didn't have the physical strength to stop him, but her persistent touch finally cut through his fury. Haar released his hold on the kid's shirt, rose to his feet, and kicked him a final time.

"Get out of my sight." Haar spat on his face.

The stupid kid scrambled to his feet, his hand clasped over his nose, blood leaking through his fingers. His eyes burned with humiliation and anger, flicking between the fuming Haar and the shocked Jill. Spitting out more blood, the boy finally departed, muttering something under his breath that neither Jill nor Haar cared to hear.

Still breathing hard, rage boiling in his chest, Haar finally turned to Jill. Her wide eyes were fixed upon him, and her hand still rested on his arm. After a stunned sort of silence, she let go of him, and fell back in a daze onto the bench. Seeing her there, completely downhearted and dispirited, made all the anger dissipate at once from his body. With a sigh of release, Haar collapsed beside her.

"I thought he really liked me," Jill said blankly. "I thought he really cared. Instead, he just wanted… he just…"

"Boys are like that," replied Haar.

"Were you?"

"Not like _him__!_ Oh, you wound me, Jill - you know me better than that, don't you?"

Jill attempted a laugh at his familiar teasing, but Haar could hear the suppressed sadness. The boy's words echoed in his head – _you can have the damned nun._ Haar's anger tried to roar into life again, but he forced it back. "Jill, don't listen to a word he said. He's the fool bastard. You deserve someone far better than _him_."

"Thanks, Haar," she said quietly.

They sat together in silence for a few moments, arms barely brushing. Then Jill gave a great sigh, leaning her head onto his shoulder. Glancing down at her, Haar noticed a pale purple flower, crushed in the palm of her hand. With an angry huff, she tossed it to the ground and turned her head away, and Haar put his arm around her shoulders, and he didn't want to move away for quite some time.

* * *

Only months after becoming a full-fledged soldier in the Daein army, Jill – along with every other Talregan dracoknight – was summoned to meet with Commander Shiharam. His three captains, Haar included, stood a little off to one side in full armor, their expressions fixed and impassive.

"I have received word from Nevassa," said Shiharam. His face was as blank as the captains'. All the soldiers, however, stood rapt at attention. "The war against the sub-humans and their Crimean support requires our involvement. Every able soldier is to be deployed, myself at top command, and organized into battalions under my captains."

A thrill shot through Jill's veins. She was a full soldier now – this included her! A war, against the sub-humans! She'd get to hunt them and kill them, like the other Daein soldiers bragged about, making all the kids burn with jealously that someone else had gotten the glory of helping rid their world of savages.

"I will divide you based on seniority and experience. Each battalion will have an equal number of experienced soldiers and those who have never yet seen battle. You will follow your captain's orders without fail, as they answer to me, and I to Daein's highest generals. Listen now for your assignments."

This was it, then – very probably the biggest moment of her life to date. She felt as if her heart should be pounding, but it wasn't, perhaps out of sheer suspense and force of will. She would_ not_ appear foolish and nervous – she was the only female soldier, and the commander's daughter, no less; she had to prove that she needed no special treatment. Her father was looking away as he called out the names of other soldiers, but Jill's gaze happened to meet Haar's. He nodded - nearly imperceptibly – but made no other sign of familiarity.

All too soon, she was the last soldier left unsorted into a battalion. It made sense; she was the youngest and the newest. Her father's eyes finally met hers. His expression was exactly as it had been for all the other soldiers, but he did not glance at the parchment of assignments in his hand before he spoke.

"Jill," he said. Young soldiers were addressed with no honorifics.

Now her heart began to race. Every eye was on her – they all knew that she was the commander's daughter, and Haar's friend. Some whispered, smirked at their friends; perhaps they had bets going. Jill knew the other two captains by sight and the occasional conversation, but all the same… She would be so alone in those groups! Surely – _surely_ –

"You will be in Captain Haar's battalion," said Shiharam. "Captains, meet me tonight for more specific instructions directly from the king's representatives. That is all."

Legs shaking slightly, Jill made her way to Haar, who held out his hand. She took it firmly, the formal greeting, no different than the one he shared with any other soldier. The others – her friends and fellows – slapped her welcomingly on the shoulder, and she heard the chink of a few coins changing hands, bets having been won and lost.

When no one else was looking, Haar pulled her close and ruffled a hand affectionately through her hair. She made a show of annoyance and tried to push him away, but truthfully, she couldn't help a small smile.

"You won't get away from me so easily, Jill," said Haar cheerily.

"Oh, be quiet, _Captain_ Haar," said Jill, punching him playfully in the arm. He grinned, placed an arm around her shoulders, and together they followed the other soldiers to Talrega keep, Jill's heart still racing from excitement.


End file.
